


old habits die hard

by blasphemydarling



Category: Pentagon (Korea Band)
Genre: Addiction, Anxiety Attacks, Implied/Referenced Cheating, M/M, One Shot, References to Depression, depressed!changgu, its 2am and im sure as hell angsty, they are broken halp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:54:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25862395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blasphemydarling/pseuds/blasphemydarling
Summary: Changgu is stressed and Hongseok is the anti-depressant pill he wants to quit but can’t.
Relationships: Yang Hongseok/Yeo Changgu | Yeo One
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19





	old habits die hard

**Author's Note:**

> Broken boys and routined habits! Maybe we are all just a little crazy for our special someone!

Changgu could feel the anxiety seeping in like a leaking faucet and messing with the flood in his head. 

He has been feeling like this since yesterday. And it just gets worse every time he drags it out, eating away at the hems of his poise exterior. Not that he was any elegant, to begin with, but he could have been better. Changgu wonders if his stress tolerance has been considerably shrinking, or the rubber band within him has always been overstretched, waiting to be snapped one bright sunny day. 

It was his fourth cup of caffeine fix, but he needed an extra dose more, to at least keep his sanity intact till he got home. Though he wasn’t sure if drowning himself in espresso shots would last him through the next two meetings, neither was he sure if it was exactly, quote, unquote his therapist - ‘healthy’ - for his current mental state. 

But that was really the least of his worries now.

By the time he pushed through the door into his monotonous three-room unit and stumbled over the potted plant seated by the shoe rack, he could barely register how he made it back. How he even managed to maneuver through the peak hour crowd of sweat-drenched people breathing through their mouths and stinking up the public bus, and not fall into the construction site’s man-made hole under his pitch-black apartment building, was a miracle.

He let out the breath he was holding onto for god knows how long, feeling the tightness in his throat as it squeezed out every ounce of oxygen from his lungs, and he all but lets himself fall onto the oak wood parquet flooring. He wasn’t about to make a dent out of this expensive floorboard even if he was to keel over. So Changgu shuffles as quickly as he could to his bed, not caring where he tosses his shoes and bag. Dropping himself on the duvets and curling into a ball, he releases a suffocating cry that wrecks his whole body in shudders. 

Sometimes he wonders why he was stupid enough to not make a trip down to the pharmacy when his medication ran out. Then he remembers not wanting to rely too much on the prescriptions, or so he thinks. Because his decisions always had consequences and he often takes too long weighing between the pros and cons that he completely gives up in making them, going with the usual “it’s ok, I’m good” in what little self-reassurance he has, to push his condition to the back of his head. 

The state he is in now was far from reassuring.

_Old habits die hard and Changgu is a walking contradiction, he admits._

The last time it was this bad was during his college entrance exams. Where he puts off the innate need for sleep because who needs them in this day and age when getting a degree is more important? He vaguely remembers running on five tanks of coffee for 48-hours of no shuteye and crashing through the hallways at the end of the last paper, into Hongseok’s waiting arms. The older had wrapped his arms over his shoulder, supporting him, till he got into the backseats of his car and falling asleep almost immediately.

He had Hongseok with him. The other’s presence calms him down like a running hot bath as he rubs soothing circles into his back and whispers the sweetest encouragements, those significantly beautiful words that leave Changgu undone. Words, he has come to love. 

He always manages to calm him down.

Hongseok. 

That’s right, he still had him. 

Fishing out his phone from his pocket, he lets the obnoxiously bright screen burn into his eyeballs, reminding him belatedly of the current time. Was he troubling the other? Changgu guesses the other is probably still hard at work. Being too hard on himself was Hongseok’s toxic trait. Then again, in what position was he to talk about people’s toxic traits when his brains are frying its way down the gutters, not so successfully, because it's choking at the pipes. 

It’s 1 a.m. and long past the time to be doing anything sensible. It’s the time when people get a little too tired to care, a little too drunk for common sense, and a little too miserable to go home to an empty apartment alone.

So Changgu does what’s thinkable of him at the moment, bringing out whatever little sanity and balls he had left, he lets his fingers go auto-pilot, sending a quick message to the first ‘H’ on his contact list. He does not remember exactly what he sent out, it’s probably a shit-ton of poorly phrased cries for help. But the familiar chime of his phone a few seconds later, indicates an almost immediate reply from the other line, dismissed his worries. 

It wasn't the first time, and surely won't be the last. Changgu relies on Hongseok like a habit. 

A bad habit. 

Even after all these years, he has never learnt to quit. 

Hongseok knows Changgu better than anyone else and when the familiar ringtone sounded off from his phone (yes, he uses special effects for special people), he doesn’t think twice before reaching for it and types in a quick “wait for me, I’m on my way”. He sets down all the work on his hands, throws over a padded jacket, and makes his way over to the apartment he knew like the back of his hand. 

It had become a routine, a pattern, a habit hard to kick. 

Whenever it comes down to Changgu, Hongseok wants to be part of everything. He wants to be the only one revolving around his world, despite it being selfish of him. He had a life, a family, everything. Changgu had only him. 

They had been together since young, relying on each other as they grew tall, grew dreams, and grew apart. Changgu had been there to witness Hongseok getting his first job, first promotion, fall in love, marry. Changgu had always been there for him, the only constant in his life, even when he himself could not return the love in equal weightage. Hongseok then vows. Made a promise to himself to always be there for the younger, whenever he needed him. Although it didn’t need to be made, because he knows he will fly to wherever the younger is, however far the distance between them might be. 

He is that addicted to Changgu.

The moment he unlocks the door to the younger’s apartment, he realises that kicking an addiction was a lot harder than he had imagined. A scent all too familiar to him, like fresh laundry and wet forest wood whips at his senses, contrasting starkly to the dimly lit room. It makes him heady, pulling him in. Only the TV was on, buzzing a drama series that has been aired over and over again. Hongseok knows that any source of sound only acted as background noise, distracting the boy of his thoughts, of the mastermind in his brain that comes out to play every once in a while. 

Except he doesn’t know that he pulls the trigger on the mastermind, plugs the stopper on the floods in Changgu’s head. He was like the hot chocolate on snowing nights, the retro music blaring from the old radio in the kitchen, and was even more so resembling thick silky blankets on rainy days, and Changgu has never learnt to leave without them. 

So, when Hongseok barges into his room and presses his body into the sheets, wrapping his muscular arms around him in that oh-so-comfortable manner, Changgu knows he is in too deep. Hongseok was like the drug, the anti-depressant he needed to take to feel alive. And it is safe to say (ironically), that Changgu is addicted to the taste of it. 

_Old habits die hard and Changgu is consistently true to his habits._

They were like lost souls, desperately searching and needy in the dark. There wasn’t much need for verbal communication between them, each knowing too well what the other wanted. Changgu prefers letting his body do the talking instead, letting the raw physical touch maul him off his mind. Despite that, Hongseok’s concern-laced expression never left him and he is grateful for that. 

For he is able to let himself ride the feeling that is Hongseok and carve into his mind the burn under every inch of his skin the older touched. He lets it all out, directing his fears, his insecurities, his pains, to the other. And Hongseok takes it all in like a sponge. He soaks it all up, holding what’s left of the younger gently, tenderly as if he was a piece of glass. Changgu was probably a piece of glass anyway, shattering at any blunt force trauma, but not completely breaking, just cobwebs of cracks which Hongseok tapes up afterward. Not super effective, nonetheless, it works. 

Because come morning, everything will go back to normal. They will return to childhood acquaintances that text each other once in a while. They will go back to work, to his reports, the taller, back to his rightful place at home, as he should. He wanted to be selfish, to sink into this hellhole of anxiety so the latter could be there to take care of him all the time. He seeks this warmth that he could never obtain if he was normal, maybe that’s why the illness never left him. He had to be sick, so Hongseok would stay. 

Resting his head on the crook of the taller male’s neck, he sighs, taking in the view of those muscular physiques and caring deep black eyes of the beautiful man next to him. He knows that when the sun shines in through the blinds tomorrow, Hongseok will be gone, leaving emptiness, the usual pain in his chest, and cold breakfast on the dining table. But losers can’t be choosers, and he will indulge in as much as comfort he can get for the rest of the night. 

_Old habits die hard, old habits die hard, and Changgu can't help but sink into it._

Hongseok loves looking at the way Changgu sleeps, how his mouth seemed to open slightly, relaxed and unguarded. He loves how the younger shone under his undivided attention, the way the edge of Changgu’s lips turn up whenever he showers him with praises like the sweet boy he is, the way his eyes shone every time they meet as if they hadn’t talked in years. He loves the way they fit into each other’s embrace, how well the younger takes him in, takes whatever he has to offer to him without complaint. He loves the way he holds on to his arm, gripping and gasping, the evident red marks left on his back, and the little kisses that line his inner thighs. He loves them all.

Most importantly, he loves Changgu’s every crack and tear. 

He got up, pulling the covers over the other and searching for his phone in the mess of strewn clothes over the floor. The notification lights up one after another.

[Are you coming back for dinner tonight?]

[10 missed calls.]

[Answer the phone.]

That was 5 hours ago. His wife would probably start screaming at him if he doesn’t get his ass home. He had to remind himself that he had a family. He was no longer the boy years ago who loved the attention Changgu gave him. Or so, he believes.

He missed the younger so much. He missed the warmth the latter had to offer, the steady breaths of his sighs, the rising and falling of his chest. He wishes to see those big brown orbs turning up into little crescents, to kiss him good morning on the forehead and bask in tender touches and gentle smiles. 

He wouldn’t admit it but Changgu was a habit he could never quit. Because if he did, maybe the world he created would suddenly come crashing down on him. 

It has always been the same, like a pattern, when Hongseok springs out the doors and back to his office in the morning. He often takes too long weighing between the pros and cons of his decision, that he ends up retreating into his ‘perfectly’ built routine and norms. 

Except for today, he wants to catch the sunlight reflecting from the other’s eyes.

So Hongseok dips down again onto the bed, admiring and soaking up every last bit of the Changgu’s beautiful features. Admiring how the younger’s hair framed his jaws perfectly, how the little freckles and moles drew into constellations on his face. It was dark, but he could see them even with his eyes closed.

He sighs, dragging his lips over the lingering taste of the younger’s pink ones and pulls out his phone from under him, he typed out a slipshod reply before flinging it out of sight, out of mind. 

[I won’t be coming back today. Had to finish up some last-minute work.]

**_Sent._ **

It was 3 a.m. and far too late to be doing anything worth regretting. It’s the time when people begin to think too little, feel too much, and start developing unnecessary feelings for people they shouldn’t. 

_Old habits die hard, old habits die hard, and maybe Hongseok was out of his mind as well._

Before he could take back his decisions, he slips under the covers of the queen-sized bed, too big for one, too tiny for two. But he didn’t mind. He didn’t mind having his legs stick out above Changgu’s, having their hands intertwined with each other. He didn’t mind having their sweaty bodies mash together, exchanging scents and breaths. 

Because old habits die hard and he just can't get enough of Changgu. 


End file.
